


Just A Kiss

by MellytheHun



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Angst, Childhood Friends, Cliffhanger, Coming Out, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Halloween, Halloween Challenge, Heavy Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Pennywise (IT) Being an Asshole, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Teenagers, This was just mean to write tbh, forced outting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Swallowing roughly, and loudly, Richie bravely asks, “why - uh - why do you wanna kiss me?”“How bad will you freak if I use the ‘L,’ word?”Laughing again, Richie feels a bubble of relief pop in his chest, releasing jittery, kinetic energy that has just about nowhere to go.“Pretty bad,” Richie answers with a grin, moving his hand to cup Eddie’s cheek, his other hand going to loosely hold Eddie’s wrist, “Could be worth it, though.”“You think?” Eddie asks bemusedly, his eyes slipping down again.“Worth a shot.”





	Just A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_sky/gifts).

> I'm here with angst!! Blessed Samhain to my fellow magick practitioners out there, and happy Halloween to everyone else!! <333
> 
> Red_Sky, who is a darling, asked me for angst a while ago, and I wrote this spooky little thing for them! Hope you enjoy!! <333
> 
> TW: Forced Coming-Out, violent panic attack, and other stuff I'm probably not thinking of - pls let me know if I need to tag/warn for anything else in the comments (politely, please!)

“Eddie!” Richie greets with some confusion, forgetting to shut his bedroom door behind him in his surprise, “I thought Stan and you were showing up together - in like half an hour? What gives? Did you ditch him?”

Turning away from Richie’s CD collection, with the setting sun’s light shining through the bedroom window and onto his chestnut hair, Eddie moves to face him, a touch more demure than Richie is used to seeing him.

He doesn’t answer right away, mostly just chews the inside of his cheek, and fiddles with his fanny-pack. 

“What’s going on?” Richie asks, concern weaving into his voice.

“I, uh… well, it’s Halloween, and I… I dunno - I thought… I know we all agreed, after last year’s incident, to stay inside, I just… I wanted to see you, I guess. Before the others got here.”

“Oh,” Richie utters softly, “Okay. That’s - okay. Uhm, I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, or anything, but why not go to Bill’s, if you’re… worried?”

Rolling his big doe eyes, Eddie tells him, “you know I love Bill, he’s great - but if I wanna feel… you know… _ safe _ \- I go to you.”

“Me?” Richie’s voice cracks; he drops his book bag on the floor, and comes nearer to Eddie, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, _ seriously_, dick-hole,” Eddie tells him, crossing his arms over his chest, “I mean, God help me, I don’t know why I should, but I like you better, anyway.”

“Better than Bill? Bill Denbrough?” Richie inquires disbelievingly, “That’s not, like, physically possible.”

“Richie.”

“Bill is incalculably more likable than me. Like - kid’s got charisma oozing from his ears -”

“Yeah, okay, but I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Richie asks.

“I like you better, but I… I dunno, Richie, I like you differently, you know?”

“Uhm - how?” Richie ventures, stepping closer again, “How differently?”

Once Richie is close enough to see the freckles dotting Eddie’s nose, and cheeks, he feels a huff of a breath disperse over his nervously dry lips.

His room is warm, particularly with the autumn colors leaking in from the outside, and those last rays of daylight spilling over them.

Eddie stares at him with an expression of aggravated bemusement; Richie knows that face very well.

“You know, don’t you?”

“I have never, not once in my life, known anything, about anything,” Richie mutters back, heart hammering.

“That’s true enough.”

Butterflies fluttering around in his stomach, Richie laughs, then reaches a hand out to touch Eddie’s upper-arm. He rubs his thumb back and forth a few times, wondering if it’s meant to comfort Eddie, or himself more.

He can’t tell.

Touching Eddie has always been half-torture, half-incandescent beauty.

“So, you… you wanted to feel safe, and Bill is cool, but not the dude you wanna be alone with, because…”

“_Richie_.”

“Yeah?”

Anxious as he’s ever been, Richie licks his lips, and tears his eyes away from where he’s touching Eddie’s arm, to look into Eddie’s eyes.

They’re so dark, so beautiful - he nearly says it out loud - he _ wants _ to say it out loud. He wants to say, ‘Eddie, your eyes are so fucking beautiful, I could easily, and happily, get lost in them forever,’ but even if Eddie were into him that way, he’s not positive he wouldn’t get slapped across the face regardless, for being cheesy as all get-out.

The cheesiness is genuine, though. 

He feels a lot of cheese, about Eddie.

“You… uh… you should kiss me.”

Swallowing loudly, Richie’s voice comes out scratchy, and tattered, when he clarifies, “I sh-should kiss you? Kiss your lips?”

Eddie is staring at his mouth, looking hypnotized, “yeah. Richie - I… I want you to kiss my lips.”

“Uhm,” Richie starts, several organs relocating to his throat; he pushes his glasses further up his nose with an unsteady hand, “have you been kissed before?”

“No,” Eddie answers readily, still staring at Richie’s lips, “I was saving it for you.”

“You were?”

“Mhm,” Eddie tells him, finally looking into his eyes again, “Halloween sucks, Richie. Everything… It made everything scary. Every mummy I see, everyone made up like a werewolf, or - or any homeless guy that’s wandering around for free food - it all… it all scares the shit out of me now, and you’re like - you’re like my stupid, big, bat-wielding hero, you know? I feel better - safer - being with you, in your room, but it’s not why I wanna kiss you.”

Swallowing roughly, and loudly, Richie bravely asks, “why - uh - why do you wanna kiss me?”

“How bad will you freak if I use the ‘L,’ word?”

Laughing again, Richie feels a bubble of relief pop in his chest, releasing jittery, kinetic energy that has just about nowhere to go.

“Pretty bad,” Richie answers with a grin, moving his hand to cup Eddie’s cheek, his other hand going to loosely hold Eddie’s wrist, “Could be worth it, though.”

“You think?” Eddie asks bemusedly, his eyes slipping down again.

“Worth a shot.”

“I love you. The big love - the in-love kind - love you.”

Blinking some glassiness from his eyes, Richie nods, face flushed, wishing he could stay suspended in this moment forever.

“Wow,” his voice crackles, “yeah. You should say it again.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“One more time.”

“I’m in love with you,” Eddie begins to smile.

“And again, for the folks in the back -?”

“Oh my God, Richie -”

“Okay, that’s good too,” Richie acquiesce, suddenly frightened that if he tries to make too much of a joke out of this, Eddie will want him to forget the whole thing, “So - kiss? I can kiss you?”

“Please,” Eddie begs, and Richie swears an important blood vessel, somewhere in him, bursts.

“Yeah - okay. Okay.”

Breath coming in at a staccato that would put Bill’s stammer to shame, Richie reaches up, cups Eddie’s face as gently as he can, tilts Eddie’s head, and leans down to close the distance between them.

He takes a brief moment to appreciate being a millimeter from kissing Eddie Kaspbrak, once he gets to that distance.

His eyelids feel heavy, like he could slip into a dream, or actually, literally faint, which would be humiliating for several reasons - but he manages to flick his eyes down.

He finds Eddie looking back at him with bedroom eyes, and he tells Eddie, lips brushing against Eddie’s as he speaks in a low whisper, “this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Ever?”

“Ever,” Richie parrots assuredly, and then he dips in, and kisses Eddie.

Eddie’s warm, and soft, and responsive, and Richie wants to curl around him like a python, and never let him go; he holds Eddie’s face delicately, kissing him soundly, and slowly, wanting to draw out their first kiss for as long as he can stand not to breathe properly.

It turns out that Eddie is a lot more appealing than oxygen. 

When Richie pulls away, he actually computes Eddie’s hands on his chest, his fingers curling into Richie’s shirt, and he’s surprised by the little tug Eddie gives him.

“Tongue,” Eddie tells him, “I want you to use your tongue.”

“Oh, God,” Richie moans; he dives in again, hungrier this time, a little more desperate, and then he’s making out with Eddie Kaspbrak.

His breathing turns harsh, Eddie’s hands go to cup his neck, and his own hands comb into Eddie’s hair, his entire body feeling like a lit fuse.

“Love you,” Richie gasps out between kisses, “Always - always been in love with you -”

“Richie,” Eddie sighs, pulling him down closer, and Richie really does begin to think that breathing is overrated.

He’s happily lost to the world entirely, caught up in the euphoria of making out with Edward fucking Kaspbrak, in the glorious privacy of his own bedroom, when he swears he hears a muffled cry.

Worried he’s somehow offended Eddie, he tears himself away, “you - are you okay?”

“**_RICHIE_**!”

Jumping, Richie twists to the side, and sees that he has a very captive audience trapped outside his bedroom at the threshold, by some invisible gate. 

Among them is Eddie.

A terrible, nauseating chill runs up Richie’s spine as he looks into Eddie’s terrified eyes; Eddie’s banging on the forcefield keeping him from entering Richie’s room, and he, Ben, Stan, and Bill all look like they’ve been screaming at him for some time.

He’s petrified.

He turns his head slowly back to whoever is in his arms, and when he finally manages to look down, it’s a string puppet.

It goes lax in his hold, the strings giving out, the clacking joints collapsing, and clicking, made out of the wood, looking more like a marionette than what made up his own ventriloquist doll, back at the Neibolt House. 

But it’s Eddie - it _ was _ Eddie, it was flesh, it was warm, and real - he could’ve sworn it was - but -

He looks up to his bedroom ceiling, following the loose strings, and sees an enormous, gloved hand, handling the control, and he hears a familiar, cartoonish, jovial laugh echo from above.

“Oh-_hooo_! Ruh-roh!” It laughs, “And here we just wanted a kiss from pretty-boy Trashmouth!”

Screaming in abject horror, Richie drops the life-sized marionette doll, and scrambles for his door; the dark magic vanishes, just like it did whenever It was done playing a joke on any one of them, but that doesn’t stop Richie from running out of his house entirely.

He comes to collapse on his front lawn, heaving, worried he might vomit, shaking from head to toe, and he can hear Bill, and Stan asking after him - Mike even pulls up to his front yard just then, and runs over to them all.

It’s when a sweet, unassuming hand goes to touch his face that he’s shocked back into motion, and he scrambles backwards, shouting, “stop! Fuck! Fuck! Stop! Stop it! Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t fucking touch me, Ed!”

The Losers are gathered around him, all in various degrees of crouching, and all with varying degrees of fear and worry writ over their faces.

Eddie looks wounded.

“Richie -”

“How long?” Richie huffs out, “How long were you all trying to get to me?”

“Something like five minutes,” Stan answers, “You couldn’t hear us.”

_ **They know now, Richie. Eddie knows.** _

“Stop!” Richie screams, covering his ears with both hands, “Stop it!”

“C-Can you still h-hear It?” Bill asks fearfully, “Richie - i-is It st-still here?”

Unable to cope, and with no clear communication between Richie’s brain, and legs, his body stands itself up, and takes off; he hears the Losers call after him, and he knows they’ll give chase, but he also knows he’s faster than they give him credit for, and he’s running on adrenaline - he can outrun them.

Outrunning the Losers isn’t the problem - it never was.

It’s that he can’t outrun himself, and he’s fucking vibrating out of his skin in want to be anyone, anywhere else. 

He knows this is the end, and he doesn’t want to face it. 

He knows this is where his friendships all end, where he’s kicked out of the Loser’s Club, because it’s one thing to be a Loser, but it’s another to by fucking _ gay _ \- and more over, gay for another Loser, _ in love _with another boy.

Eventually, he finds himself in the downtown area, the streets are flooded with costumed characters, and way too many clowns. He decides to hide behind the pharmacy.

His lungs are burning, and his legs need to collapse.

He needs to collapse.

He sits among the garbage, where he belongs, and sobs into his quivering hands.

He hears Bill calling for him, but he doesn’t want to face Bill’s wise-beyond-his -years-gaze, as he inevitably says something stupid, and ridiculous, like, 'we really don't mind,' or ‘you can still hang out with us,’ with that tone of someone who’s just trying to be polite.

He hears Mike call for him, but Mike doesn’t know what the others just saw, he doesn’t know what Richie’s done, he doesn’t know what Richie _ is_. So, Richie convinces himself it wouldn’t be fair, to run into Mike’s big arms, looking for comfort. Once Mike knows what Richie really is, he won’t want Richie to hug him anymore. No one will want Richie to touch them again.

He hears Stan call for him, but he loves Stan like his own brother, and he’s scared of how badly it’s going to hurt when Stan tells him ‘I don’t care what you’re into - I always knew you were a pervert,’ and he laughs weakly, but never looks at him the same. Richie can’t face it - he can’t face disappointing Stan, he doesn’t want Stan to stop loving him, and he knows he’ll see it in Stan’s eyes, as soon as he follows the call of his name, and he can’t. He can’t.

He hears Ben call for him, but Ben has zero authority in the Loser’s Club - he’ll be kind if Bill sets some example first, but he shies away from confrontation, and he’s unlikely to take a hard stance for, or against Richie. He’ll just see Richie, and call out to the other Losers that he found him, that he’s fine - which is very fucking relative at this point - and then, based on how the other Losers react to seeing Richie, Ben will decide if they’re friends or not anymore.

He hears Eddie calling for him, but he doesn’t trust it. 

He hears Eddie calling his name, and the shame moves through him like a wildfire, punishing him, and he wants to scream, but he can’t, so he turns on his knees, punches the brick building instead, and thinks he hears his knuckles break. 

He can’t feel much of anything, so, he’s not sure.

“Richie! Come on! Where are you?” Eddie calls, and it’s so desperate, it’s so worried, it’s so sweet, and Richie hates it.

Richie hates how it makes him feel. 

He bangs his forehead, and the side of his fist against the brick wall, and then slides down to the ground, curled into a fetal position, holding his bloody knuckles.

Nearby, under one of the filled garbage bags, Richie hears the grate of storm drain shifting.

His heart drops into his stomach.

“Please, don’t,” he begs quietly.

“Ohhh, but, Richie! We want another kiss!” Pennywise laughs, grabbing Richie’s ankle.

As Richie is pulled into the dripping, tar-blackness of the drain, he manages one last bellow, from deep in his chest.

“**_EDDIE_**!”

He swears he hears Eddie call back for him, but the next thing he knows is lights - both dim, dark, and blindingly bright.

He feels weightless, and falls, but never hits the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> 11/2/19 Edit: 
> 
> HOLY SHIT. OKAY. LISTEN. I'M LOSING IT, FOLKS.  
First; there WILL be a sequel - not because I was intending for one, but because so many people have inundated me with angry messages, so here we are. Secondly, Richie's not dead - otherwise I'd tag for MCD, and, thirdly, it's not my fucking fault if you don't read any of my several tags, and author's notes warnings, so PLEASE stop leaving me angry comments, and "wow fuck you's"  
It's not cute, it's not helpful, and it doesn't make me wanna write more for any of you, angst shit, or otherwise, so fucking stop.  
This was written as an ANGST prompt, for someone who personally asked for teenaged!Richie Angst. You know, the same tag that's plastered all over the warnings??? So, please, before leaving a comment here, consider these things. I'm getting blown up, and it's exhausting.


End file.
